


Stuck

by gay_jeans



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (that's all i write btw), Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_jeans/pseuds/gay_jeans
Summary: He’s stuck in time.Left is right, up is down, now is then, and nothing is okay.It’s so cold. Violent tremors shake his body. But he can’t move. The wind bites his face and it feels like water is lapping at his skin. But he can’t really feel it, because he’s so numb. How long has he been here? Freezing, dying, drowning?
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	Stuck

He’s stuck in time. 

Left is right, up is down, now is then, and nothing is okay. 

It’s so cold. Violent tremors shake his body. But he can’t move. The wind bites his face and it feels like water is lapping at his skin. But he can’t really feel it, because he’s so numb. How long has he been here? Freezing, dying, drowning?

Seventy years. 

Just another minute until he’s with Bucky. 

Years pass. 

It’ll all be over in a second. 

I’m coming, Buck. 

Years pass. He doesn’t. 

Hold on, Bucky. I’m coming, Bucky. Just, just another minute, Buck, can’t be too much longer, now— Please, just, please, let me come to you, don’t leave, please hold on, I’m so sorry—

He’s there another seventy years when he comes to.

Wooly cloth sits on his figure — no, hugs him — and a heavy physical pressure rubs his arms and legs vigorously. Gusts of warm air hits his face. A weird numbness encases his nose, but it hurts like it’s thawing, and it’s runny. 

He can feel the heat, and though it’s hot, it’s not warm enough. It’s not soaking into his skin, thawing his muscles out like he craves. His teeth chatter and he shakes. 

“Damn, Rogers, where’d you go?”

Natasha. Her voice sends waves of familiarity and security throughout his entire body. He lets out a heavy breath. The cold still trudges through his veins like molasses in January, but he’s present. It’s her. Then he sees Tony. 

“You with us, Cap?” 

They’re inside one of the penthouses in Avengers Tower. He’s in an awkward, hunched up position on the floor. It’s sharp and digs into his hip. A space heater sits a few feet to the other side, blasting heat. Some feeling works its way back into his fingers. He scrunches what he now realizes is a blanket tighter around his shivering figure; the cold still lingers on him but its touch is fading with each second he’s in the present. 

Then the vague memory of what must have landed him in this position creeps into his mind. He can’t remember much more than stepping out for some fresh air on the terrace. Something about the chill of the air hit him wrong. That and the sound of a thin patch of ice cracking under his boot. And then he just couldn’t move. 

“Hey,” repeats Tony, crouched down to his level. A heavy, sobering look is set in his face. The hand on Steve’s shoulder is firm and grounding. 

It’s twenty…. something. Eighteen, maybe? The years have kind of blurred together, but at least he knows where he is _now._

“Tell me where you are.”

He forces movement into his stiff tongue. “Stark… A-Avengers T-tower.” 

A subtle sigh of relief leaves Tony’s chest. “Yeah. There you go. Is all of you with us?”

He manages a rigid nod. _I am, now._

The combined force of Natasha and Stark pulls him into a sitting position, and their hands don’t leave him. It could be intentional or not; to ground him, or for their own ease of mind that he’s physically and mentally with them. 

Tony looks at Nat. “A hot bath might be in order.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now,” she returns gently but firmly. “Whether it’s boiling or not, it’s water.”

“Oh.”

“Food?” Steve suggests quietly. 

Half an hour later, they’re on Steve’s queen-size bed eating takeout diner burgers that are a little too greasy, with too much mustard and too many onions, half-eaten fries that have gone cold, but damn it they’re hungry and in each others’ company they don’t care about how the sauce looks on the corner of their lips when they’re wolfing down the first whole meal they’ve had that day. They’re all just people to each other. 

Iron Man has a professionally diagnosed anxiety disorder. 

Black Widow has complex PTSD. 

Captain America has flashbacks and shell-shock. 

They’re all a little fucked up. They can see that, they can appreciate that. 

Then they each nurse a mug of hot, strong drip coffee. It tastes burnt. It doesn’t remind him of the water, and that’s a good place to start.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in quiet murmurings and gentle reassurances to each other. It’s a good enough place to end the day.


End file.
